


Family

by deathwailart



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: F/M, Family, Fluff, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-20
Updated: 2011-08-20
Packaged: 2017-10-22 21:22:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathwailart/pseuds/deathwailart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day after Altaïr met his son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family

Even as the Master of Masyaf, there are some things Altaïr cannot change and one such fact is that as a man, he is forbidden from being present when Maria gives birth to their first child. He is even chased from outside the door by an angry woman who summons a novice to fetch to Malik to remove the Master until such times as he is needed. He can tell that Malik is not best pleased at being woken in the middle of the night but he escorts Altaïr away, both of them silent until they make their way outside and to the training grounds. Altaïr turns to look back up at the fortress, sure he can hear Maria’s scream and he clenches his jaw, glaring up at the high towers.

“I have not seen you this agitated in many years,” Malik says, taking a step closer.  
  
“I am worried for her and our child,” Altaïr confesses, looking back at the other man.  
  
“Maria is a strong woman and our healers are some of the greatest in the land. No harm will come to either of them.” Malik claps his hand on Altaïr’s shoulder, forcibly turning the other man’s attention from the fortress. “Come, we are both armed. We will spar to focus your attention on other matters.”  
  
“Perhaps you are right,” Altaïr says, drawing his sword as he leaps the low railing of the practice ring, Malik following suit. The loss of his arm had turned Malik into a far more technical fighter, looking for any moment of weakness or for exactly the right moment to strike out and more than once he had Altaïr rolling out of the way, only just avoiding a blow. “It has been too long since I have sparred like this,” he admits with a slight smile, “not many are willing to test their skills against the Master.”  
  
“Altaïr, if there ever comes a day when I do not relish the thought of beating you into the dirt, that will be the day I ask for you to throw me off the nearest cliff,” Malik retorts, spinning around and catching Altaïr in the back of the knees to send him to the ground. “Yield,” he hisses, blade to Altaïr’s throat.  
  
Altaïr brings one knee up and into Malik’s chest, “I do not think so brother.”

Malik merely laughs in response and parries Altaïr’s next blow. Again and again they attack, taking short breaks as the sun climbs higher, the sky brightening but with each passing hour, Altaïr grows more distracted. Masyaf wakes early and he tracks the progress of those leaving the fortress, always expecting one to come and fetch him and when Malik almost takes his head off for the fifth time in as many minutes, he heaves a sigh and returns his sword to its sheath.

“Enough. We should return to allow you to wash, change and rest. You will be no use to us or your wife if you are missing your head, as empty as it so often is.” Malik leads them back and does not object when Altaïr pulls him into a tight embrace outside his private rooms.  
  
“I will find you as soon as I hear anything,” Altaïr promises and Malik smiles.  
  
“And I will welcome the news. But for now,” he gives Altaïr a shove in the direction of the door, “ _r_ _est_.”

\---

Sleep does not come easily and when Altaïr wakes he is disoriented, with no recollection of when he fell asleep in the first place. There’s an urgent knocking at his door and he leaps from his bed, not bothering with pulling on his robes first. A young novice stands on the other side, not quite managing to suppress the start of fright they give when the door is violently jerked open.  
  
“Safety and peace Master. I have been sent to collect you.”  
  
“A moment.” The novice inclines his head and Altaïr hurriedly dresses before instructing the novice to lead the way up to where the healers are house before departing. A female healer stands outside the room Maria was in, a bundle of blankets in her arms and when she spots Altaïr, she smiles.

“Master,” she greets and he approaches, arms unconsciously extending to take the bundle from her, “may I present your son.”  
  
“My son,” he whispers, touching one tiny cheek. It almost doesn’t seem real, even when the small face turns into his touch. “And what of Maria?”  
  
“Your wife is well. She has held and fed the child. Her last instructions were for you to be summoned before exhaustion overtook her.” The healer adjusts the way Altaïr holds his son and turns back to the door. “Return with him within the hour if you will – Maria should be awake by then.” Altaïr nods and thanks her and then he is alone, cradling his firstborn. He stands still, just staring down at the tiny face until he recalls his promise to Malik and starts walking, glancing down for any signs that his son will wake but he is silent save for quiet snuffling all the way to Malik’s study.

“Malik,” he knocks twice before entering, “there is someone to meet you.”  
  
“Who?” Malik asks without even looking up from the map he is working on. Altaïr says nothing and waits, unable to keep the smile off his face. “Out with it novice.”  
  
“My son Malik.”  
  
Malik’s eyes go wide and he is up from the desk a moment later. “Your son?” Altaïr nods and watches as Malik runs a finger over the baby’s head, smiling when a tiny fist works its way free from the blankets. “He has a strong grip,” Malik notes and Altaïr cannot help but be proud.

They end up seated on the floor, Malik carefully holding the child as he and Altaïr reminisce about their own childhoods. Malik approves of Altaïr’s plans to differ in his ways when compared to Al Mualim and it isn’t until a bell rings that Altaïr realises how much time has passed.

“I should leave,” he says, getting to his feet and Malik nods, passing his son back to him. “Thank you for last night.”  
  
“You are welcome. Now go before the healers hunt you down. And pass on my congratulations to Maria.”  
  
“I shall.”

Altaïr hurries once he has left Malik’s study, paying no heed to the odd looks he receives, shushing his son when he starts squirming and making disgruntled noises. The child is close to tears when he arrives at the correct room, striding in to see Maria sitting up, looking pale from exertion and exhaustion but still as beautiful as ever. He takes a seat next to her on the bed, kissing her forehead as he hands their son to her before averting his eyes for a moment. He isn’t sure how he should act here but Maria calls his name and he looks down, meeting her smiling eyes.

“I love you,” he murmurs, arm around her shoulders.  
  
“I know,” she whispers back, “I love you too.”  
  
“We have to decide on a name,” he says and she nods, stifling a yawn. He can feel his own tiredness creeping up on him too.  
  
“After we’ve all slept.” Maria shifts, leaning on him heavily. “Mmmm, stay? You’re very comfortable to lean against.”  
  
“Of course I’ll stay.” He kisses her, on the lips this time and then bends to kiss his son’s forehead, pulling his family close, smiling more than he has in years as he looks forward to what the future holds.


End file.
